


Tell Me You Need Me

by Jamjar88



Category: Alice in Chains
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26533303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamjar88/pseuds/Jamjar88
Summary: A request I got on Tumblr, using a prompt from the Drabble Challenge
Relationships: Layne Staley/Reader
Kudos: 9





	Tell Me You Need Me

It was all just words with Layne. You knew that. The promises, the whispered affection, it got you every time, but every time you came crashing back down when he broke them again. That angelic face, the hold he had on you. It made you feel like you were going crazy sometimes.

As you hurried blindly down the street, your eyes on the pavement, the puddles soaking through your shoes, you felt the tears prick behind your eyelids. Hadn’t he promised he would give up all that shit? The drugs, the other girls? Just fucking _words._

“Y/n!” 

_Fuck._ Jerry’s voice behind you. You steeled yourself. 

He grabbed your arm, which was just so Jerry, always getting right to the point. His long hair was stringy wet from the rain, he shoved it out of his face, he was breathing hard. “Stop, OK? Don’t do this. He’s not-“

“He’s not _what_ , Jerry?” You stared at him, blinking tears and rain out of your eyes. Your heart was racing with adrenaline. “Not high? Not fucking someone else? Or what?”

Jerry stared at you, clearly taken aback by your anger. “Woah, look, y/n, just calm down OK?” You snorted in disbelief and he went on, “Hey - I know how it looked, alright? But he’s not, god, he’s not tryna be an asshole. He never is. It’s just…” He shrugged, and I saw the frustration in his own eyes. “It’s just Layne, right?”

“Right,” you said slowly. This wasn’t really helping.

“You love him?” 

Just like always, Jerry’s eyes softened when he was talking about Layne, trying to be the big brother. Usually you found it endearing. Today you were just so over it. After all, you’d found Layne clearly out of his mind, with some unknown girl draped over him in his bed. Living with Jerry was supposed to be good for him. Wasn’t it?

“Do you love him?” Jerry persisted, those steely eyes never leaving yours. “Cause he’s fucking crazy about you. And I know that’s not what you wanna hear right now, I don’t even blame you. And he’s not perfect. But he just fucked up. I didn’t even know he had anyone in there til you came outta that room.”

“I just can’t do it anymore,” you said softly.

Jerry nodded slowly. He looked so sad. 

“OK. I get it.” 

He turned to go, and you watched him, wondering if this was really it. You’d been tangled up with Layne for what seemed like forever; through his good times and bad. You’d seen every side of him: his sweetness, his innocence. His wicked sense of humor, his creativity. His darkness too. Every time you looked into those bluest eyes, you melted; every time he kissed you, touched you, it was electric, you didn’t know if you'd ever have room in your heart for anyone else. But maybe, it was time. 

As Jerry sloped off the opposite way down the street, you numbly made your way home, your thoughts of Layne as much as you tried to push them away. That night - just a week or so ago, wasn’t it? When he’d sat on the edge of his bed, cradling an acoustic guitar, adorably self-conscious as he told you he wanted to play you something he’d been working on. He sung softly, his long slim fingers playing tentatively over the frets, his familiar cadence breaking a little on the high notes because he didn’t want to wake up Jerry who was sleeping off a hangover in the next room. That made you smile, too. It was a song about finding the right one, about holding on to something, making it home. 

And you’d believed all that. Like an idiot.

You busied yourself that evening, cleaning the apartment furiously, playing a shitty pop rock station so loud you didn’t have to think. That Polaroid of you and Layne you kept tucked into the edge of the mirror on your dresser - the one taken last summer, where you both looked so happy, you pressed tight against his bare chest, him in beautiful profile kissing your cheek - you yanked it out of its place and tossed it in a drawer. You couldnt stop, didnt want to sit and think about him anymore. You wondered what he was even doing right now, he’d been out of it earlier. Was he still with that girl? Had he even thought of you at all?

Eventually you relented, took a shower and put on your pyjamas, turned off the stereo. It was late by now. The usual distant siren sounds and airplane noise of the Seattle night droned on outside your window, as you curled up in bed, your heart so fucking heavy.

It was a few moments before you heard the sound of rocks hitting glass. It took you a moment to realise what was happening, and you couldn’t quite believe it. You leapt out of your bed and crossed quickly to the window, threw back the drapes. 

It was him; his arm raised to throw another stone. Your heart was pounding as you shoved open the window.

“Layne, what the hell?”

He was infuriatingly beautiful in the glow of the streetlamp and the full moon. His longish blonde curls wild, his skin luminous, fidgeting in his big leather jacket thrown over what looked like sweatpants and a tshirt, his eyes upturned to your window. And you felt it, again; that electricity. The things he could do to you.

“Y/n, I need to see you.”

You scoffed, not caring what the neighbours might think about this scene. “You can see me now. And then I’m closing the fucking window.”

“I know you’re mad, OK-“

“Save it, Layne. I don’t want to see you.”

“Y/n, please!” His voice broke. “Look, I fucked up, OK? I know I fucked up. It’s me, I just - _God._ ” He raked his hand through his hair in that way you loved, you felt yourself wavering. 

One of your downstairs neighbors, then, yelling: “Quiet it down or I’m calling the cops!” 

Layne stared up at you. “Please can I just come up? If you don’t wanna see me ever again, I, I get it, OK? But just- please. Can I?”

You didn't want to get in trouble with your neighbors, and it was pretty obvious Layne wasn’t going anywhere. You stared at him for a moment. He looked so lost, so much smaller down there. 

“OK. I’ll buzz you up.”

When he got up to your door you found yourself nervous, which pissed you off. He was the one who messed up here, not you. You opened it slowly, confronted with the scruffy figure, you could clearly see the dark circles around his eyes now, the bitten lips and the pallor of his skin. He was still gorgeous, which didnt seem fair at all. He leaned against the door frame. He smelled a little of alcohol and sweat, the old leather of his jacket; but still like Layne, and it was intoxicating. You looked at each other. 

“OK, come in,” you said, breaking away and letting him in. 

He followed you, took off his jacket and slung it carelessly over the back of a kitchen chair, leaning awkwardly against the counter. He was just wearing an old wifebeater and sweats, fidgeting anxiously. You couldnt help but notice the smoothness of his muscles as he moved, the way his tattoos shone in the shitty strip-light. You tried not to think about that, you couldn’t let yourself weaken.

“Layne, there’s nothing you can say. We’re done.” Your voice hardly shook at all. A shadow crossed his vibrant blue eyes, he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. “You _promised_ me. You said no more messing around.”

“I know,” he said softly, his tone defeated. 

“What do you want from me?”

At that, he stared at you and you were reminded of that look in his eyes the night he played you the song he wrote. When he held you close to his chest after, squeezing too tightly as usual, not that you ever minded - you loved him for that. He always said he didnt think he was great with words, but he somehow managed to express everything so perfectly. And looking at him right now, you knew that he was hurting. That he was broken. 

“I want another chance,” he said, his voice shaking a little. You exhaled and he crossed over to you, tried to hold you and you resisted. 

“ _No!_ ” You stepped back. “That’s it? That’s all you got? I guess you’re out of promises, huh?”

“I’m _sorry_ , y/n-”

“Jesus!” You felt your eyes filling with tears again and it killed you. “You always say that, Layne. And I just, I keep just letting myself get hurt by you and I don’t even know why. It’s always the same. You want me, you love me. You need me. So go ahead. Tell me you need me.” His eyes burned into you. “Go ahead. Just tell me you need me, you _fucking_ -“ 

You didnt get a chance to finish because suddenly he grabbed you, pulled him to you and kissed you, his mouth crushing against yours, his stubble scraping your face as you completely gave into it, the feeling of his body and his arms around you. You kissed back, you couldnt stop yourself. He pulled away and pressed his forehead to yours, you could feel his heart pounding in his chest. His hands in yours were clammy. 

“I _do_ need you,” he said quietly. “I fucking need you, OK?”

Your eyes met for a second, then you kissed again, and this time it was like total letting go. He pushed you back against the counter, your hands made their way under his shirt, running over the muscled body you loved so much. He lifted you onto the counter easily, the ring he always wore grazing your skin as his hand slid under your pyjama top, and you gasped as it found your breast, caressing you as he kissed your neck. You tangled your hand in his damp curls, pulling his head closer to your neck and feeling the pressure of his teeth. 

It was urgent, sexy, not the kind of thing you had sometimes when he wanted to be quieter, more tender. You knew this was Layne at his most raw and it was hard to resist, despite anything that had happened. Then he was sliding off your pants, his hand moving down, and you felt momentarily frustrated at the effect he had on you, you were so wet already despite how angry you’d felt towards him. His fingers slid inside you as he kissed you, and you moaned out loud, totally losing yourself. It clearly drove him crazy because suddenly, his cock was pressing against your entrance and you took him in, breathing- “Layne, oh my god” as he thrust into you, hard, all the frustration and need between you unwinding. 

This was what kept you coming back to him, every time; this magnetic pull you felt to him, the effect he had on you that you’d never known before. Your fingernails dug into the skull tattooed on his shoulder, and you heard him breathe in sharply, as his hand moved back to your core, rubbing your clit as he fucked you. You could feel your climax building, overwhelmed by the sensations, by the sight of him so angelically beautiful and yet so in control of you right now. “I’m gonna come,” you gasped and he murmured, “yeah, come for me”, never stopping as your orgasm crashed through your whole body. The release was mixed with anger, resentment, hurt, but it was also like letting go; like being thrown off a tall building, and the only place to land was here, whether it was right or wrong.

He finished not long after, his groans echoing around your kitchen as you both stayed there, panting. you wound your arms around his neck, he buried his face in your chest, like a lost boy suddenly as you held him tight, smoothed down his curls.

You didnt say anything for a while. There was so much to say. Nothing was alright. But for now, you would take this. 

You needed him too. 


End file.
